


Fair Trade

by BritChick91



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alpha!Peter, Different ending to Season One, Disregards later seasons, Gen, brief moment of violence, non graphic torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritChick91/pseuds/BritChick91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing Stiles wouldn't do for his best friend.</p><p>Unfortunately, Peter knows this.</p><p>(AU with different ending to S1, disregards all later seasons and characters. Peter still killed Kate, but didn't get firebombed and have his throat slit, so he's still the Alpha.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair Trade

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a writing exercise, I've actually had it for well over a year before getting around to posting it. Comments and concrit welcome.

Stiles hadn’t even hung up his phone before he was stamping on the accelerator with all of his might and making at least three illegal traffic manoeuvres to turn his jeep around and start heading in the right direction. Scott’s directions hadn’t been the clearest he’d ever received, but the edge of panic in his friend’s voice had banished any doubts in Stile’s mind.

_He’s gone completely nuts, Stiles. I mean, we thought he was bad before…_

Stiles chewed his bottom lip as he considered. Scott had disappeared five days ago, along with Derek and Jackson. The “he” referred to had to be Peter Hale. Had he been keeping them somewhere? Possibly against their will? 

Although, if Scott was to be believed, the place they were being held at, Clairemount View, was pretty damn nice. It was a huge house about 30 minutes away from Beacon Hills, supposedly of some historical importance, but better known for having no known occupants and yet being constantly refurbished and maintained. Stiles paused. Was it possible that the house belonged to the Hales? No, it couldn’t be. Why would Derek camp in a rotting shell of a house if he had that as his other option? 

Possible masochistic tendencies of Derek Hale aside, Clairemount View was perfect for Peter Hale and not a good thing for Stiles. If anything happened and he was forced to call for help (limited as that help would be), said help would be half an hour away. There would be no neighbours to see suspicious noises or activities and offer assistance or call the police. Stiles took a moment at the traffic lights to admire the effectiveness of Peter’s choice of location.

Just before the final turning, Stiles stopped the car and pulled out his phone again, staring at it for a moment. Finally, he sighed and wrote a text message to Allison, briefly explaining the situation and asking that she pass the information on to her father if he didn’t return to school on Monday or respond to any attempts at contact. 

Sighing again at his own pessimism, Stiles started his car again and pulled onto the road leading to Clairemount View. He’d never seen the house up close before and took a moment to gape before shaking his head and focusing. The lights were on in several rooms, but he supposed that if anyone had come to a place so out of the way, it was unlikely they would be turned away by leaving off the lights.

Stiles decided to start with the obvious option and try the front door. He tried the handle and was shocked when it turned easily. The door was unlocked. That was ominous. There was a distinct possibility that he was expected.  
Stiles considered his options. If he entered the house, he would be on territory that was more familiar to any would be attackers – e.g., Peter, and quite possibly Derek. He’d also be at a big disadvantage against werewolves, especially since he was completely unarmed. A quick swipe to the throat or crack of the neck could be the end of him. And yet… he glanced longingly back at the jeep. How easy would it be to call the whole thing off as a terrible idea, go home, and lie to Allison and say the house had been empty when he got there? But Scott had called him, specifically him, for help. Stile didn’t have many friends as it was, and he couldn’t live with himself if he left his best friend alone with a psychopath who had already racked up a good few kills. And, if he was willing to be generous, there was a chance that Jackson was also in the house. The guy was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die.  
A very dark little voice in Stiles’ head wondered if Scott hadn’t joined the dark side and was leading him into a trap.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Scott had nearly gotten Stiles killed since the bite. 

Finally, he made his choice and opened the door, sliding in and closing it slowly to try and avoid announcing his arrival to anyone who might be waiting. The hall was brightly lit and expensively furnished, and Stiles could see doors leading off in every possible direction, not to mention the huge staircase. It suddenly occurred to Stiles that getting to the house had probably been the easy part.

Listening hard for any signs of movement, Stiles crept through the lobby and glanced down the hallway. The house seemed devoid of life, but then to his human ears, a grand total of maybe four people in a house as big as this would be impossible to hear unless they were right in the next room. Stiles weighed his options. Going through the house slowly and carefully meant there was much more time in which Stiles could be caught, but trying to do a speed run increased the likelihood that someone would hear him and come to investigate. Most of the scenarios running through his head ending with him getting caught and brutally murdered. It was not a pleasant thought.

Stiles pulled out his phone again and considered. If Scott had managed to keep his phone, Stile could possibly call and ask for directions. Even something as small as “upstairs” could save him a lot of time. Reaching a decision, he dialled Scott’s number, praying for his friend to pick up. 

Instead, a ring tone rang out in a nearby room.

Wide eyed, Stiles hung up instantly, terrified that he may have just caused Scott’s death sentence. After a tense 30 second pause, Stiles hadn’t heard anything. Considering, Stiles realised that Scott’s phone ringing wouldn’t be that suspicious; after all, he was probably receiving messages all the time, from Stiles, Mrs McCall and other concerned friends. Another call might just be dismissed as the concerned best friend, desperate to know if Scott was safe. And in the meantime, the ringtone could lead Stiles to Scott. He hoped. 

Stiles dialled Scott’s number again, and then slipped the phone carefully in one pocket. He had no idea what was standing between him and his friend; it was best to go hands free. The ringtone began again, and Stiles carefully followed his ears down what he hoped was the right hallway. He cautiously opened a door and the ringtone instantly became louder. Stiles entered to find a kitchen, larger and no doubt more expensive than anything he had ever seen. Closing the door behind him, he looked for the other ways out of the room. Surely Scott wasn’t being held in a room with floor to ceiling windows; if he was and hadn’t already escaped on his own, Stiles was ready to despair at him. His ears lead him to one particular corner of the room, but much to his confusion, there were no other doors. Another, far more obvious solution became apparent, and Stiles looked down at the table in front of him. Sure enough, sitting on the table, proudly flashing Stile’s name and number, was Scott’s phone.

Well, fuck.

Even as one part of his brain began to panic and flash “TRAP” in bright neon lights, Stiles tried to work out the nuts and bolts. Had Scott set him up? Or had the plea for help been legitimate, but discovered? His frantic thought processes were broken when he heard movement behind him. There stood Peter Hale, and Stiles cursed both Peter’s speed and his own dull senses when he realised just how close the werewolf was.

“Well, you just can’t fault your loyalty Stiles.” said Peter. “Scott calls begging for help and here you are. I was rather angry when I found out what he’d done. I had to take away his phone, although I was impressed that he managed to keep it hidden so long.”

Stiles felt himself relax. Peter must have seen, because he smirked.

“Oh?” he said. “Did you wonder if it might be a trap? That I’d had Scott call you? No, I’ll admit that I hadn’t intended for you to get here just yet.”  
“Yet?” repeated Stiles bleakly.  
“Like I said before, I like you Stiles.” said Peter. “And I’ll admit I’m impressed. You thought Scott might be leading you into a trap, and you came anyway, because there was a chance he was being sincere and you couldn’t take that risk.” He stepped closer, and Stiles backed off, bumping into the table. “That’s brotherhood.” His smirk became even more dangerous. “That’s pack.”  
“I’m human.” objected Stiles. “Human’s don’t have packs.”  
“No,” agreed Peter casually. “That’s why humans who understand it are all the more special.” He took another step forward, and since Stiles was backed into the table, the two were now standing with little distance between them. “I offered you the bite before, do you remember?”  
“I remember.” Said Stiles, trying to delay as he desperately looked for an exit. “I remember saying that I didn’t want it.”  
“And I remember you lying.” said Peter.  
Stiles knew that Peter can probably hear his heart hammering in his chest so he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was terrified from the Alpha.  
“Where is Scott?” he demanded, cursing the shake in his voice.  
“Here.” Said Peter, but gave no further answer. Stiles swallowed as Peter rejected his attempts to stall. “You’ll see him soon enough. But for now…” he paused, making a show of considering something silently. “I realise that I didn’t make my offer to you at the best of times. Your little girlfriend had just been attacked, Scott and Derek were both missing…” he smiled. “I don’t think you quite realised what you were turning down Stiles.”  
“My little… Lydia had just been attacked? I think you mean when you attacked Lydia!” Stiles snapped, white hot fury making him stupid.  
Peter’s eyes flashed red in warning.  
“Do not talk back to your Alpha.” He demanded.  
“You aren’t my Alpha.” said Stiles. One of his hands fell on Scott’s phone, and he gripped it tight to stop himself from shaking.  
“Not yet.” said Peter, before lunging at Stiles. 

Stiles, working almost entirely on autopilot, lifted Scott’s phone as he darted to one side and brought it down on Peter’s head. It was a lucky shot and it sent Peter reeling, giving Stiles the opportunity to run.  
Stiles burst through the door he had originally entered through, aiming for the front door and his Jeep that lay just beyond it. Unfortunately, Peter recovered fast enough to go out the back door and around, appearing in the front doorway and blocking the only possible exit. With only a split second to react, Stiles threw himself at the stairs, hoping to escape out of a window onto the roof. Peter, no doubt not amused at being assaulted with a phone, caught up with him before he even got halfway up the stairs, grabbing the back of Stile’s jacket to pull him back. He dragged Stiles towards himself and covered his mouth with one hand.  
“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles…” he said in a disappointed tone. “It would have been so much easier for everyone if you’d agreed.”  
Peter pressed his hand tightly over Stile’s mouth, also covering his nose and making it impossible for the younger boy to breathe. Panicking at the lack of oxygen, Stiles tried to break free but Peter’s hold on him was like iron. Stiles felt himself start to pass out and his knees buckled, only to be caught by Peter.  
“I guess I’ll just have to persuade you to see things my way.” said Peter.  
Stiles didn’t even have time to worry about the possible threats in that statement before he passed out and everything went black.

When Stiles woke up, everything hurt. His lungs burned and his back ached worst of all. He sat up and found himself in a dimly lit room. There were no obvious windows, so Stiles made the assumption that they were underground. As he regained his senses, Stiles realised that his jacket was gone, and along with it his phone, wallet and car keys. He had to grudgingly admire Peter’s thoroughness – now even if by some miracle Stiles did escape, he had no option but to walk, and no way to call for help. He was now trapped in the house by more than walls; if he found his way out of the house, the most likely result would be that he would get lost in the woodlands surrounding the house and freeze to death. His first attempt to stand ended badly, but eventually Stiles managed to drag himself to his feet. No sooner had he regained his balance when Peter entered the room.  
“Glad to see you’re awake.” said the Alpha. “I hope we can put the unpleasantness of earlier behind us and try to have a civilised conversation.”  
“Where is Scott?” Stiles demanded.  
“Ah, Scott…” said Peter, somehow making his tone of voice both malicious and fond at the same time. “You know how it is with pups, you have to punish them when they disobey you or they just won’t learn.”  
Stiles felt his blood run cold.  
“What’ve you done to him?” he asked, dreading the answer.  
“Come with me,” said Peter, taking Stile’s arm in a crushing grip.

Wincing, Stiles let himself be dragged into the next room, which resembled pictures his mother used to show him of spas. The door at one end was made of glass, and had been securely locked with very thick chains, so heavy Stiles doubted he could pick up more than one link at a time. The heat emitting from the door and the spa like surrounding finally made Stiles realise it was a sauna. And slumped inside was…

“Scott!” gasped Stiles, running to the door. He hammered on the glass to try and get Scott’s attention, knowing that trying to get the door open was a lost cause before he had even begun. Scott looked up weakly, and his eyes widened when he saw his friend.  
“Stiles…” he said, looking horrified.  
“Why are you doing this?” Stiles demanded, turning to yell at Peter.  
“You remember how Scott was before he received the bite, don’t you Stiles?” said Peter, in a calm tone of voice, as if he hadn’t constructed a makeshift torture chamber in the basement of a stately home. “With his little inhaler, struggling to breathe… well, I decided that Scott needed to be reminded of how lucky he was that I chose him. I thought this would be a suitable reminder.”

Stiles examined the sauna. Scott had been thrown in fully clothed, and while he’d at least had the sense to take off some of his heavier layers, he was still in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, both of which were soaked through with sweat. His hair was also slick with perspiration, and even through the thick glass Stiles could hear the dry rasp of his friend’s breath whenever he inhaled. 

This was worryingly often.

“Let him out!” said Stiles, rattling the door for emphasis. The chain was wrapped tightly enough that the door barely budged, although Stiles hoped he may have let in even the tiniest amount of cooler air before the door fell back into place. Peter gave a mocking sigh.  
“I can’t let him out until he learns his lesson Stiles. That’s the point of a punishment. If he says he’s sorry and that he won’t disobey me again, then I’ll let him out.” He glanced through the door pointedly.  
“Go to hell.” wheezed Scott.  
“Scott!” begged Stiles. “Not helping!”  
“You see?” said Peter.  
“He’s no good to anyone if he’s dead.” said Stiles, mind spinning with possible arguments to save his friend. “How long has he been in there?”  
“About… an hour?” said Peter, pausing to calculate. “Yes, that seems about right. And it won’t kill him.”  
“He’ll dehydrate!” insisted Stiles.  
“He’ll recover.” responded Peter.  
“Look, you said yourself you were going to try to get me to come here eventually.” Said Stiles desperately. “If anything, Scott just saved you a job, right? Please…” he begged. Dignity could go to hell if it saved Scott.  
Peter smirked.  
“Saved me a job? Hardly.” He scoffed. “Why did you think I would bring you here Stiles? To play catch up with your little friends and then skip home to the Sheriff? If anything, he’s saved me half a job, at most. But if you wanted to play that game, I’ll play along… for as long as you’re willing to.”  
“Stiles… don’t…” Scott warned weakly.  
“What’re you talking about?” asked Stiles carefully.  
“If you want us to play pretend that Scott called you in a misguided attempt to do my bidding, then you can’t let the job go half done.”  
“Meaning…” Stiles’ stomach dropped as he realised what Peter was getting at.  
“Meaning, I’m going to ask you again. Do you want the bite?” the Alpha asked, his smile widening at Stile’s obvious discomfort. “Accept the bite to save your friend, or I’ll see if I really could kill Scott this way. He’ll come back of course, eventually. But you’ve seen what long periods of being only half alive can do to a werewolf.”

Stiles prayed for some form of intervention. His dad, the Argents, Derek, anything at all to get him out of this situation.  
“Why me?” he blurted out at last, in an attempt to buy more time.  
Peter’s smile was knowing but indulgent.  
“There’s only so much dumb muscle one can take.” He said. “I need some brains for the pack, and you’ve got those in plenty.”  
“I have ADD!” cried Stiles hopefully. “That makes me useless.”  
“You have ADD.” Peter nodded. “Scott had asthma. Funny how the bite can make those things go away. And if you’re this smart with ADD…” he smirked. “You’ll be very useful to me. A real riser in the ranks. With a little work, you’ll be a perfect second in command.”  
“As long as I survive the bite.” Stiles reminded him nervously.  
“Yes, true.” agreed Peter. “But I have a feeling that you will. An Alpha’s intuition, if you will. Now, enough delay tactics. Yes or no?”  
Stiles glanced into the sauna again. Scott was watching what was happening, but he was barely keeping his head up. He met Stiles’ gaze and tried to shake his head.  
“Yes.” Said Stiles in a half whisper. Peter smiled triumphantly.  
“No, no, Stiles don’t.” Scott called through the door.  
“You have what you wanted, now let Scott out of there.” demanded Stiles.  
“In time.” said Peter. He grabbed Stile’s arm and tried to drag him out of the room.  
“No.” said Stiles stubbornly. “I want to see you open the door and let him out.”  
When Peter’s smile curved nastily he knew he wasn’t going to like whatever came next.  
“As you wish.” 

There was a wooden bench attached to the wall directly across from the sauna door, which Peter dragged Stiles over to and forced him to sit down. Stiles swallowed nervously when he realised that sitting on the bench put Stiles and Scott directly in each other’s line of sight.

He was going to make Scott watch.

At such close range, Stiles could see each and every one of Peter’s teeth as they elongated, and he shuddered, subconsciously trying to pull away from such an obvious threat. Peter’s hand closed around Stile’s wrist in response, pulling him back and then pushing his head to one side. Stiles had a feeling that the submissive gesture caused by this was hardly a coincidence. Finally, Peter took a breath before biting down harshly Stiles's wrist.

It was agony. Stiles jerked, trying to get away from Peter, but the Alpha held fast. He could feel Peter’s teeth buried in the flesh of his arm, and he swore that if they bit through much more they could probably close together again. Not a nice thought. His pulse seemed to hammer through his wrist, and the pain was enough to make him light headed again. After what felt like a millennium, Peter let go, straightening up and examining the bite-mark. 

“Scott.” Stiles reminded him in a half choked voice.  
“Of course.” said Peter, turning and walking towards the door to the sauna.  
Scott snarled weakly when he saw Peter approach.  
“Scott…” said Stiles in obvious frustration.

Scott nodded and glanced at the floor. Pleased, Peter began to unfasten the chains holding the door shut. Opening the door to the sauna, he dragged Scott out before leaving him on the floor by Stiles. Stiles felt the wave of heat coming from the sauna now it was open and winced in sympathy. If Scott hadn’t have been a were he’d have been at best unconscious and at worst dead.  
“Stiles…” Scott gasped out after several minutes of desperate panting. “M’sorry…”  
“It’s not your fault.” Said Stiles, leaning against the wall as blood loss began to make him dizzy. He closed his eyes to try and ignore the pain, but it didn’t help. If anything his unsteady grip on consciousness began to fade even more.  
“Stiles!” he heard Scott say, but it was muted, as if Scott had moved away. “Stiles!”  
“Let it happen.” He heard Peter say to Scott. “He’ll become one of us, or he’ll die.”

Scott said something to Peter in reply, but Stiles couldn’t make out the words. There was movement nearby, then what sounded like a yelp. Then he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe, when I wrote this over a year ago, (Season Two spoilers) Victoria Argent hadn't used the wolfsbane vapours to try and kill Scott yet? I tried to think of the meanest punishment Peter could do to Scott, and simulating his asthma with the sauna seemed to fit the best. Clearly I was on to something.


End file.
